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About Fukuoka

Prostitutes ain’t all glitz—some stories gut ya. Heard bout this one gal, worked 20 years—20 fuckin years! Retired with a limp, sad as hell. Made me think—where’s their prophet, huh? No one saves em. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but fuck, it’s dark out there. You try findin one—nerve-rackin, thrilling, messy. “You’re learning, kid,” I’d tell ya, slow and deep. Go watch "A Prophet"—then hit the streets.

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Start with Nakayama Street. Proper narrow alley, seriously, full of character. You got tiny cafes, dodgy noodle shops, and even a second-hand bookstore that's nearly falling apart—look, it’s like "No Country for Old Men": "I got here as fast as I could," except on foot and with a coffee-stained map. The locals call it "Naka, or somethin'," but it's cool.

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